Modern Warfare: Epilogue
by Ashcrhf
Summary: Immediate aftermath of COD: Modern Warfare 3, following Captain John Price, his coping with the death of his comrades and a new mission that may prove to be more pressing than the last as a new threat emerges. Choose-your-own-adventure. M for Mature.
1. Chapter 1

**Captain John Price**

**January 21st, 2016**

**Dubai, U.A.E**

He spoke with U.A.E officials, who were the first on the scene, but didn't waste his breath past explaining himself out of getting arrested. The simple, fat policemen's words were wasted on him, just as the massive amount of kilocalories they consumed a day were wasted on their impressive guts. It was only a matter of minutes before the real deal arrived, joint S.A.S and U.S clean-up task forces keen on keeping all things confidential until their respective nations were ready to release the news. Either way, Price didn't care. He finished what he had set out to do, and as he navigated back down through the very carnage he had wrought using makeshift lifts and stairs that authorities had quickly constructed, his mind drifted to the sacrifice it had taken to get him there. He thought of Soap, who just years ago had been the F.N.G in his unit, which had been largely wiped out. Then Roach and Ghost, whom he had not known well, but had considered good, sturdy Englishmen, let alone elite soldiers, betrayed by a faux ally. Grinch, Sandman, Yuri; all men he hardly knew personally, some for only months or weeks, yet had connected to in a way all soldiers do, in combat and in brotherhood.

He shivered, despite the relative warmth of Dubai, then shrugged it off. There was a reason why he didn't like to think in the past; it was easier to just forget and move on, honor their memories rather than dwell on them. He wasn't weak, after all. He had made it through all this, however great the cost.

He continued to walk, out of the lobby of the and across the bridge to his ticket out of this place. Even as he caught sight of the chopper that was to be his return ride home, Price thought about what he had to go home to...

...and the very thought made him want to keep walking and never look back.

6 MONTHS LATER

**Captain John Price**

**July 17th, 2017**

**London, United Kingdom**

**19:17  
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"...And it is for that reason, we would like to issue this promotion and decoration on a true English hero...Major James Price!"

Amongst the applause and the praise and sheer emotion of the crowd's standing ovation, all Captain James Price could muster was a slightly less threatening grimace. After sitting through the Prime Minister's victory speech, rife with words like 'we' and 'our country', he was too sick to his stomach to offer much more. Like bloody hell 'we' did anything; it was the men and women in uniform who had made this possible, people like Price who put their lives on the line that saved this country. There was no 'we'. Yet on the stage there were only a handful of veterans, mostly crippled beyond any hopes of returning to normality, but for every sharp, polished uniform were at least 3-4 politicians there to congratulate them. Fucking disgusting.

Congratulate them on what? Doing their duty? What you were too chicken shit to do yourselves? What a load of rubbish. In Price's hour of need, his country abandoned him, and yet he still fought for it. He owed nothing to these people, who use brave men and women to further their agendas. He grew nauseous watching each man, including himself, being pinned with medals by men who did not understand what they stood for, or insisted that having a piece of shiny metal on your chest somehow validated their efforts all those months ago.

As he sat and the applause died down, he wanted so badly to spit to get the metallic taste in his mouth out, and by the looks of some of his comrades, so did they. He silently wondered if he looked the same as they did; strong, firm, but with eyes somewhere off in the distance, still in the line of fire where their fellows fell. Still there, in limbo, in that split second after their friends died, waiting for them to dust themselves off and get back up.

3 MONTHS LATER

**Major John Price**

**October 1st, 2017**

**141 HQ, ?**

**09:20**

"So whats the situation?"

Colonel Henry Brookshire looked at Price with a small mocking smile and a glint in his eyes from across the large oval mahogany desk in the undisclosed One-Four-One Task Force headquarters. He was sharply dressed, with his officers uniform pressed and ironed, with not a thing out of place...

"You come in here and ask the same thing every time, Price. Ever thought of changing it up for a change, mmm?"

...yet he didn't act like it.

Price looked at him with his cold grey eyes, analyzing him further. He was maybe a few years his senior, which was saying something; Price was no young buck. He had read up on his files; He had seen plenty of combat, but was perhaps more respected for his tactical abilities, playing more of a backseat role these days. Someone had to do it.

"Well, I'll change what I say when you do the same.", Price snorted in retort.

Brookshire chuckled. "There isn't too much I can do about that. We meet every week, and every week I have to let you down. There just isn't much going on that would warrant your level of expertise these days..."

Price began to stand when Brookshire interrupted,

"...However..."

Price immediately became attentive and the fog that had sat over his mind the last few uneventful months was lifted. He had hoped for a mission soon, something to do, someone to kill, so he didn't have to spend his nights alone, his nightmares keeping him...

"However, there was a curious bit of intel, if you're intereste-"

"I'm always interested.", Price interrupted.

"Well, take a seat and I can explain...The Iranians, as you might have noticed, have been taking full advantage of the crisis following the ultranationalist collapse. Whole stockpiles of tactical weapons and high-grade uranium have gone missing, and all signs point to the Iranians, but we have yet to confirm anything."

"So, whats the intel? Did you find something?"

"Not quite. What we did find was a transmission, from the higher echelons of the Iranian government. Apparently, there have been two failed missions to a remote area of Kazakhstan by the Iranians, who had tracked down someone who has been sapping off their signals. The transmission indicates that whomever has been doing this has access to their security and personal mainframes, and may have downloaded some incriminating data. Another mission has been ordered, much larger in size and support, to find and eliminate any leaks and tie up loose ends."

"Do we know who is behind it? The Americans?"

"Thats just the thing. We have no clue. Whomever it is, they must be working on their own."

"Great...a vigilante."

"I'd be careful Price. If you take this one on, we don't know who or what is out there. They may not welcome you anymore than Iranians."

"Don't worry about me. Whats the objective?"

Brookshire span away from Price in his chair. "We need those access codes, and whatever information may have been gathered. Maybe we can find out where those missiles went, eh? Either way, we can't let this information pass, nor can we let it fall into anyone else's hands...are you up for it?" Brookshire turned in his chair midway through his sentence, only to find Price halfway to the door.

"I want wheels up at 1100."

Brookshire smiled as Price opened the door and began to exit.

"Some patriots never die.", he mumbled to himself before turning back around in his chair.

-

**Major John Price**

**October 3rd, 2017**

**Altay Mountains, Kazakstan**

**06:00  
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"Alright Nikolai, the drop point is just down there.", Major Price reminded Nikolai as they approached the base of Belukha Mountain.

"I know where it is, Price. But tell me again, what are you going to do when you get down there?"

Price grunted. "Easy, mate. What I always do."

"And just what is that, Price?"

"Win."

Nikolai chuckled. "How are you to track the target? I can only provide air surveillance for a short while. It is a long ride back to base."

"Not necessary." Price re-checked his magazines as the drop point came into view. "Whoever is behind this, they don't care if they are found. We picked up their signal hours ago. I've just got to follow the ping."

"Be careful, Price." Nikolai said after some time. "You don't have any back-up this time..." They landed in a small clearing, and Price exited the chopper quickly, to minimize the risk of being seen.

"...because you aren't as spry as you used to be." Nikolai came over loud and clear over Price's head-set.

"Cheeky bastard."

Based on his intel, the Iranians were supposed to be at least 2 hours behind. But about an hour into his hike up the base of the mountain, he spotted Iranian scouts and smoke from a local camp. He immediately dropped into a prone position, looking for more signs of movement in the trees. He counted three scouts, one about a half-mile away overlooking a forested bluff, the rest less than a quarter-mile away, speaking enthusiastically in Arabic. The two were less than 300 meters away. He sneaked another peak, making sure to hold his breath in the frigid cold. He checked his GPS. The signal was strong as ever, so the Iranians must be waiting for reinforcements to swarm the position. He had maybe an hour. He needed to decide how to proceed. He could go in, guns blazing, all fire and glory and wipe them out, and risk scaring away the target and alerting other patrols that may be away from camp. OR, he could continue stealthily and try and avoid the camp and the patrols as needed, and risk moving too slowly to beat the reinforcements. Decisions decisions.

He knew that whatever choice he was to make, he needed to do it fast. He didn't have much time...

**Author message: You choose what happens. If you want to. Otherwise I'll do this shit myself. **


	2. Chapter 2

Price swore. There was no way he would be able to push his way through the encampment stealthily, and to try and find another way around the beaten path would take too long. He would have to push through, but he didn't like the odds.

"_I need a distraction..." _he thought, using his years of battle experience to calculate his chances. He had an idea, and while it was certainly an improvement on dying an glorious death today, the outcome could get fairly grizzly...Then again, when did that ever stop him?

"Nikolai...come in..." Price whispered fervently into his head-set.

"Nikolai...are you in position?" Nothing but static for a few moments, until Price heard the familiar pop and click of a microphone coming on.

"Dah. What is the situation?" Nikolai came over a little statically, but his words were clear and intelligible.

Price breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Nikolai, I need a diversion. What are you outfitted with?"

".30 caliber machine guns, grenade launcher, and air-to-air missiles...but Price, the explosive ordinance is non-lethal. The American's were kind enough to lend us their helicopter, but they want no ties to this operation... I fear we are running on smoke and mirrors."

Price didn't speak for a minute. He figured as much. A man could hardly get the proper equipment these days...everything was traceable. But, as many times as he had been screwed by the government, he was prepared for this sort of thing. He fiddled with his infrared goggles in the eye-wear compartment on his jumpsuit.

"Smoke and mirrors, eh? I guess we have to work with what we've got...I'm sending you my coordinates Nikolai. If I want to get out of this alive, I'm going to need your cover."

"You are not far..." Nikolai said after receiving Price's location. "I can fly over in 5 minutes time, but I can't do more than a circle around... you know this means that I will not have enough fuel to pick you up for at least another 5 hours, Price. You will have to hunker down at the LZ."

"Understood."

"Good luck, comrade. I am on my way."

Price heard the whirl of helicopter blades being started, and then the pop click of the microphone turning off. He fitted his infrared goggles over his eyes, the screen flickering to life almost instantly. Using the optical zoom, he counted 12 men within a mile radius. 8 were in the vicinity of the actual camp. He needed to create a kill-zone...but how?

Maybe his ears had been trained to the sound, but he already hear the soft sound of the far of helicopter blades. With luck, the emergence of the helicopter would bring the scouts back to camp to form a defensive position, where they had cover, consolidate forces, and perhaps heavy arms...

The whirl got louder.

Price fought his way up a steep rock face, and lay atop the lichen and brush. He focused his zoom in on the camp. Indeed, he had been right. With the steady clop-clop of the helicopter blades, the scouts had returned to camp. All he need do is...

_!_

Nikolai had begun to launch his ordinance, and the soldiers in the camp had taken up their rocket propelled projectile weapons to shoot him down.

"_Sorry, not going to happen, mate." _Price needed only seconds to wait for the rockets and grenades to explode in the camp, sending mutli-colored marker smoke into the air. Now that his enemies vision was obscured, they would not be able to determine his location and return fire.

Price zoomed in on an Iranian's head. He smiled to himself and pulled the trigger. Instantly, the gun recoiled into his shoulder and a shot rang out over the forested area, the bullet hitting its mark; reducing the man's head to a amorphous mass of bloody pulp while fragments of his skull and blood painted a man beside him.

Price was quick and precise as he took out each man between short choppy breaths...2,3,4,5...A man still focused on Nikolai took dead aim through the smoke. Price aimed at the base of his RPG, and fired, ultimately hitting the rocket inside starting a chain-reaction resulting in the premature explosion of the explosive, taking out two more men.

"_Seven." _Price thought to himself, intent on his work.

Four more men had taken refuge behind a rock face, periodically popping up their heads to send blind fire in Price's general direction. They were hunkered down pretty well, but they made a fatal mistake...one Price planned to exploit.

"Nikolai! I need machine gun fire behind that rock there! Face north to north-east in the west part of the enemy encampment." Price yelled into his mike. Almost immediately, that rat-tat-tat of .30 caliber rounds spewed red mist into the air, as Nikolai returned from the apex of his circle-around. Price waited for any sign of movement as Nikolai broke away and back south, toward HQ. There was absolutely no motion from the rock, and Price doubted that Nikolai would have left any stragglers...

Suddenly, Price experienced two things. One was the sudden realization that those four, with the seven he had taken out before hand equaled 11, not 12. One man was unaccounted for...which explained the second sensation. The cold, hard steel of a pistol barrel was pressed to the side of his skull.

He heard cruel, venom-dripping words in Arabic.

Major John Price squeezed his eyes tight.

**BANG.**

**Author's Fucking Note:**

**No reviews. Thats cool. Updates will be short and far between unless I get some constructive feedback. I don't need to write. I just like praise for my lack of creativity and poor writing style. And if you're wondering if he died... thats my choice, isn't it?**


	3. Chapter 3

**I write as I go. Criticism welcome. I do not own anything.**

-

There are times where nothing seems for sure. For instance, the dark, ominous shroud that is your vision could be a result of having closed eyes...or having just been shot in the head. The rhythmic beating of your heart becomes so quick that you first cannot distinguish the beats from a dull, continuous roar, and then you don't notice it at all. The cold in your fingertips ebbed its way through your whole hand until the numb became just as much a part of your being as the very breathes you take, and even those are brought into question in that brief moment of non-existence. And you know what? That moment is an epiphany of glorious triumph for any warrior; to know that there is nothing more you can do, nothing more to be expected of you. You were trained, socialized, indoctrinated even... to live for your country, and now you've died for it. Full circle. Thats the goal, right? Why you fought every day, probably killing the only other men in the world who would ever actually fucking understand you. Why you forsook your wife or husband, children, friends and family...but, some men find peace in that moment, can come to terms with what they've accomplished. Some. The rest just drift into the unconscious eternity that is death. Full of regret, broken hearts, and dreams. Bleeding, alone, cold. They never saw it coming.

Price's eyes flew open.

He was alive. That enough he could tell. His neck was still raised and stiff, notably braced from the rest of his body, prepared for the blow that never came. He could distinctly differentiate a difference in his weight; something was pinning him to the ground. He attempted to turn over, and in doing so sent a lifeless Iranian body tumbling down the rock-face; eyes still wide open, one gaping wound a 4 and a quarter inches below his left shoulder still bleeding profusely. Oddly enough, Price's first instinct was to follow the body down. Whomever the shooter was, they were obviously still around. Perhaps the bullet had been meant for him, and the Iranian was just another misfortunate casualty of friendly-fire.

But that didn't make sense; the bullet struck text-book center mass. The bullet had to have been intended for the Iranian. But that meant...

_There is an ally in the midst. _

Price immediately began to look out into the horizon for any sign of his savior, but amongst the bramble and cover that littered the base of the mountain, there was little to see but tall trees and misshapen rocks. While Price made a conscious note to find and thank (or interrogate) this mysterious shooter, he was now in no immediate danger. He still had a mission to accomplish. Price checked his mission watch: 00:00:45:12. 45 minutes to get to the signal and grab whatever intel he could find, and confront or extract whomever has been tapping into Iranian intelligence.

_Hmmm...Maybe this POI and the shooter are one in the same? _Price pondered as he began back running again, keeping pace with the beep of his portable GPS, all the while keeping his eyes peeled for his 'friend'.

It was certainly a possibility. Whomever was behind the mysterious signal was no push-over by any means; they had single-handedly taken out two Iranian task forces. Assuming, of course, they are operating alone. Whatever the case, he had to proceed with caution. There was no telling what a wild animal would do when cornered, and men were even less predictable.

A HALF HOUR LATER

Although it had taken a near break-neck pace, he had managed to find the source of the signal. It was a small ramshackle cabin that blended all too well with the terrain, its north most face covered by rocks to prevent being spotted from above. Indeed, whomever was involved covered all their bases. Price dropped to the prone position and waited for any sign of life or movement, and then once again consulted his GPS. The blip blinked rapidly, pointing immediately in front of him; it was definitely inside.

Sudden, he heard a crash from inside the cabin. He had to act. Price sprang up and sprinted to the door, not even trying to peer in through the thick dust covering the doubled-pained and possibly bullet proof windows. He took a little time to ready himself and take out his polished M1911 .45, when he heard another shuddering crash. It was now or never.

With a grunt, he turned around the threshold of the door and delivered a deafening kick to the door, splintering it and sending it flying back on its hinges, and stepped through the door. The place was a computer scientists wet dream; all sorts of screens and advanced computers took up every inch of the dark, dank cabin. On the far wall was a tac board with clippings and bits of yarn and string connecting them. There was a row of destroyed equipment along the near wall, presumably an attempt to destroy evidence of some kind...but it was then that Price heard it. That distinct sound that couldn't be mistaken for anything else, the cocking of a pistol... yes, there was little possibility it could have been mistaken for anything else; it was in his ear.

"I'd put your weapon down, friend, or I'll be turning your head into a classic Picasso."

The voice was familiar, one he had grown used to hearing years before...

"...Gaz?" Price inquired, without looking into the shadows.

"Price?" The figure stepped out of the darkness of the cabin, wearing a bloodied billed hat that had been something of a signature for the ex-S.A.S operative.

"Gaz! You're alive! But in Russia...!"

"But in Russia what, you old shit?" Gaz asked, smiling ear to ear. They embraced, both smiling and laughing.

Price stepped back, stammering. "I-I...I thought you were dead. I saw Zakhaev execute you." He slumped over in amazement, falling back on a nearby stool.

Gaz chuckled darkly. "Yeah, I'm glad the bastard was old and one-handed." He turned, reveling a sizable whole in the back of his cap. He removed it, revealing a small bald scar on the back of his head that from the top down to the beginning of his hair line on his neck.

"Passed right through the skull, into my back. Was told I wasn't going to walk...but look who's standing, eh?" He turned back around, grinning, and replaced his cap.

"*Who* told you? We left you on that road when we evac'd..."

Gaz stiffened, his expression souring. "Yeah, I know. I lay there for hours, bleeding out. It was almost a day before some Russian authorities came around to clean up. They found me half-dead, but they got me to safety and patched me up."

"They didn't tell anyone? You were still in uniform. They must've phoned someone..."

Gaz's countenance darkened further. "They did. You know as well as I do that the government distances itself from exposed men, especially those already listed as K.I.A... I was left for dead here." Gaz walked deeper into the cabin and took a seat. "But, I was able to secure some serious hardware, and eventually found my way here...I've been able to watch the world and keep up with the goings of it. Which is how I got this..." He held up a small flash-drive, but held it with such reverence you'd have thought it was made of gold and diamonds. "...But I didn't think I'd see you again, Price."

"I'm just glad one of my men came out of this in one piece...and I'm sorry for everything, mate." Price's grey eyes drifted for a second, looking out into nothing before he spoke again. "We have a lot of catching up to do, Gaz. But for now, I need to know whats on that external drive and what it means."

Gaz turned his chair around to face one of his many high-tech monitors, plugging in the flash-drive and typing furiously. "Its better if I just show you..." He turned to Price with a smirk. "...Captain."

Price grunted as he leaned over Gaz's shoulder to observe the monitor. "Thats Major to you."

"No shit?"

"No shit. Surviving Armageddon has its perks, apparently."

Gaz shrugged and returned his focus to the screen. "You'll always just be Captain Price to me. A lot of things changed after the skirmish on the bridge. Too much for me to keep up with." He stared intently into the monitor. "Its easier to just feign ignorance."

There was silence between the men, with only the recoil of the keys echoing between them. Price could only wonder at what Gaz had been through. Abandoned by his country, forced to live in obscurity... He wanted to consul him, put his hand on his shoulder, let him now he had a friend and a mentor in Price. But he didn't. His 'friends' had a habit of dying...besides, Gaz had never been one to take pity...

"There." Gaz's exclaimed suddenly, breaking Price's line of thought. "This is it. The little gold-mine I walked upon." He turned the monitor towards Price.

Price began to read it greedily, his curiosity getting the best of him. What had the Iranians been doing that they want away from prying eyes enough to send whole squadrons of men, thousands of miles away, to die?

His eyes scanned each line, until he began to slowly understand what this intelligence implied...

His eyes widened. "Gaz... does this mean what I think it does?"

"'Fraid so, sir."

Price sat back on a bench, taking off his signature boonie hat, and began to run his fingers through his hair.

"...Fuck."

-

**Point out any errors. **


End file.
